Ready for Christmas?

It's a question I hear every year. And I am not sure my answer is satisfactory, at least to me. But I say it anyway.

"Are you ready for Christmas?" .... I think people mean, "Have you gotten your Christmas shopping / baking / decorating done?" To that intention, I usually answer, "Almost," and I would be telling the truth.

Summer 2011 - all of the family

But part of me is never ready for Christmas. The part of me that remembers that it was Arielle's favourite holiday, the part that remembers how she'd fill her mouth to the bursting point with Christmas dinner and then try to talk (as a joke), the part that misses her and her quirks. That part of me is never ready.

All the preparation I do for the holiday seems bittersweet. It's not as bitter as it was when the loss was fresh, I'll admit that. But there is a certain wistfulness about it for me. I wish she could enjoy it with us, or that I could be aware of her enjoyment. For all I know, she IS with us every Christmas dinner - it happened once that I was aware of it - that first Christmas. That was SO special. I hug that memory to my heart often.

But people don't need me to bleed on them when they ask something that for them, is more like a "hello, how are ya?" kind of thing. So I say, "Almost," to their query about my 'readiness' for Christmas, and they can go on their merry way. Only those who know me best understand what my response means. I guess that means I have grown as a person ... the "old Judy" would have made them feel uncomfortable by being brutally honest and ruining an otherwise great day for them. I'm not like that anymore. People have a right to feel happy (or whatever they feel) even if I can't quite attain that level of joy myself. And here I go comparing happiness and joy - two totally different experiences. Happiness is usually (for me) dependent on circumstances, and joy speaks more of an inner peace in spite of circumstances.

And yes, I have joy. I can honestly say that as deep as the loss of losing Arielle is, it would have been a deeper loss never to have known her, never to have borne her. There was a time I couldn't get there because the loss hurt so much, but now - I think - I can honestly say that our lives are richer for having had her in them, even if her presence is only a memory now. And I do have the sure hope that one day, I will see her again - without the faults that made life with her less than perfect, that made us - and her - so frustrated. I look forward to building an eternity of experiences with that girl: the one we couldn't (and can't) help but love. Do I miss her? OH yes. Every day! And grief's shape has changed over the years to make space for me / us to honour her memory in little ways that would only matter to us.

So am I ready for Christmas?

Ummm, almost.  :)

What's THAT feeling?

 I was sitting at breakfast with hubby yesterday morning. We had been talking about everything and nothing, one of my favorite times of the day. The dog was laying at our feet, chewing on a bully stick. And I noticed it ... inside of me. 

What's that feeling? I thought. It's ... different.

I tuned into my emotions and it was then that I realized what it was. As I did, my eyes opened wide ... and I turned to my husband. "I'm ... happy," I said.

He blinked slowly. "You're what?" he queried. 

"Happy." I smiled gently, gently placed my elbows on the table, and cupped my chin in my hands.

"Wow," he responded, eyes wide. "It's been a long time since I heard you say that." 

"I know." My attention turned inward, and I held the feeling close to me like one would hold a little bird: gently, lovingly. I was silent for several seconds. An indulgent smile crept onto my face.

"It's all this," he said, gesturing to my tote bag where I carried my clipboard and my appointment book back and forth to my counselling office. "Isn't it."

I nodded. 

"I am so happy for you," he said, softly. "And I am so proud of you." He took a sip of coffee, and looked me in the eye again. "You were made for this. You've found your niche." 

I smiled and nodded as my eyes stung with tears. "It feels so good.  And I'm learning so much!" My mind drifted to all the neat things I was learning from my experiences as a counsellor, from my clients, and from my supervisor. I shook my head slowly in amazement. 

Happiness. Who knew?

I remember one day, after the umpteenth time in three years when this one person asked me how I was and I responded, "Okay," she said to me that one of these days she was hoping that I would be able to answer by saying "Great!" 

Well, I guess she got her wish. It took a while, though. 

This feeling - this happiness - is reason enough to stay in the moment to enjoy it. I like it. It's good.

SSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS

No, it's not a typo.

The title that I chose today is the sound my little dog's nails and feet make on the floor when he races around the house doing what little dogs do when they are excited (or just before bed): "the zoomies."

We had a snow last night. As always happens in the morning when the dog wakes up, he wants to go out. So I put his harness and leash on, and carried him out the back door onto the deck, and put him on the deck for him to choose a place to do his business. But as soon as he had emptied his little bladder, he put his nose into the white stuff on the deck, and jerked away. COLD! And then his nose melted it. He cocked his head. "Wuff," he whispered. He put his nose on the white stuff again. Cold! He pulled his head back and peered at this strange substance.

 

Bullet, September 2020

 

All of a sudden, the lightbulb came on over his head. He started doing the zoomies right there on the deck! SSSS-KSS-KSS-KSS went the little feet as he turned tight corners and slid around ... over and over again! Mouth open, tongue lolling, snapping at the flakes he was raising, he was the picture of pure doggy joy as he lived each and every nanosecond in the moment. 

It made me laugh out loud! Literally! Even when he left snow crystals on my Crocs (and melting into my bare feet inside of them) I couldn't help surfing on the waves of joyful puppyness that emanated from him. 

No fear. Pure joy that comes from confidence - which comes from knowing he is loved. I am slowly learning that I am loved unconditionally, and that gives me confidence ... and joy. My heart skipped and skidded around with Bullet on that deck. Though I hate the cold, somehow it didn't matter to me, and I laughed -- no, giggled -- like a child at play.

It feels good.  SSSSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS.....

The strange face of gratitude

Almost nine days ago, on February 24, 2020 at 10:10 pm, my brother passed away. It was unexpected, as he had been getting slowly better with dialysis and his kidney function was improving. But one of his two catheters, the one that carried his bile out of the gall bladder, became infected and caused blood poisoning (also known as sepsis.) He became too weak to get out of bed, and to make a long story short, after police got to him, he was in bad shape and died later in hospital from septic shock.

I say this only to set the stage for all of the aftermath of his passing.

Free photo by Larisa-K at pixabay

My brother and I were as close as any brother and sister could be. He and I were like soul-mates. We thought alike, felt the same things, and had the same background. We "got" each other. Almost every day, separated by the miles, we talked for at least a half hour, sometimes as much as three hours. And we enjoyed ourselves to the full while doing so. It was a joy to talk to him, to watch him grow as a person, to share experiences and thoughts and hopes with him and he with me, to make plans together for the future, to talk of our love for God, for family, for animals, for nature, for music, and for life.

I miss him terribly. And time will not diminish the pain of that. Only Love can.

In the last few days, I have had the opportunity to look back and marvel at how many wonderful and miraculous things have happened. Leave alone the miracles in his own life: being cured of colon cancer in 2017, surviving two heart attacks (fall 2017 and winter 2019), and witnessing many other smaller miracles of the everyday. Just in his passing and the subsequent events arising from that, I have been able to be thankful for several things:

• He did not die alone and undiscovered. This was his greatest fear, and it was on a day when he was expected at a medical appointment (dialysis) that I finally got someone to check on him and knew enough to call 9-1-1.
• He was spared having to say goodbye to our mother.  He was anxious regarding how he would handle her death. She is still alive (although she has dementia), so he was spared this pain.
• He was ready.  He was finally moving toward feeling at ease in his own skin, and he was growing spiritually and so excited for the things he was learning about how to live life. There is no doubt in my mind that he is waiting for me on the other side, enjoying restored / perfect health and strength in everything that gave (and gives) him joy.
• My husband is retired, and he never left my side during this whole ordeal of going out of province, making arrangements, and greeting people I had not seen in decades (and whom he barely knew) - even though it is outside his comfort zone. That's love, and that heals.
• My daughter was able to stay home and look after the animals all week, and she, too, went outside her own comfort zone to come and attend the funeral with us. This is a huge deal for her, because the thought of losing people in her life makes her very anxious and panicky.
• My work situation is such that I was able to take the time off to make arrangements for his funeral, plus some time to decompress. My boss was unexpectedly understanding about the whole thing.
• Co-worker after co-worker ... each has expressed condolences on Facebook. They really do care. That blows me away.
• I was in the middle of taking a break from my studies when this happened. As a result, my schooling was not interrupted, and I didn't lose any marks for lack of concentration. My brother was so proud of me for taking steps to be a counselor. He rejoiced with me over every milestone. He would want me to graduate with full honors.
• The circumstances of his death, plus the communication with family and friends, re-established old ties long since given up for lost.
• The fact that he died in the winter meant that there was no committal service (graveside) and I was spared the stress and pain of seeing his body put in the ground, the hardest part of death rituals for me.
• The love from family and friends has been nothing short of miraculous and has even now already started the healing process.
• My psychologist is amazing. I saw her yesterday and poured out my heart regarding many of the above things - in detail - and she listened and supported me in my grieving process.

I could say much more, but I will stop there. All of those things (and more) has left me with something I never expected:  the strange face of gratitude in the middle of my suffering, in the process of my grief.  That does not mean that I am untouched by losing him. Rather, it means that I feel somehow honored to have been a part of his life for as long as he was here - with no regrets for having helped him as much as I could - and privileged to be a part of a circle of family and friends that, unknown to me, was there all along.

Gratitude is a strange response to grief. But here I am. Grateful. And grieving. But grateful.

FEEL what you feel

2016.  Wow. 

As the year dawns, I've been reflecting on what I could do to improve myself, to improve my life, resolutions to make.  Since I am in a process of continual growth, I am sure some things will come to me.  However, the one thing I keep coming back to - because I am reminded of it over and over - is the importance of feeling what I feel. 

It sounds ludicrous when you say it like that, doesn't it?  But I am serious!  

I saw this poster someone put on a social media site recently.  It talked about how worry hurts the stomach, fear hurts the kidneys, and so forth.  Let me be clear on this: emotions are a gift - even the "bad" ones!!

The only time that emotions are bad for us is when we hold them back, or hold onto them for a long time.  The act of keeping that grip on them is harmful, yes.  But they are not the culprit.  We are.

The brain has several parts, and people talk about their frontal lobes and occipital lobes and so forth, they talk about their IQ, and may even boast about it.  But few people think about how at the very base of the brain, under all those cognitive processes (like memory, decision-making, logic, reasoning, and so on) are a whole network of what look like nodules - this is what neuroscientists call 'the limbic system' and it is responsible for the emotions that we feel.  

Now, I figure if those things are there and protected by the skull, so deep down that even skull penetration with a foreign object is not likely to strike it, they must be pretty important.  

The limbic system (connected chemically to the brain stem at the base of our skull) is where we get such important chemicals as adrenaline - which helps in fight-or-flight situations!  Our emotions do have a purpose, and it is best to deal with our emotions the way the designer intended.  

I look at it this way.  Our feelings are the nervous system of the soul.  We need nerves in our body to tell us what is hot, cold, pleasurable, painful, and tasty (or not).  When we touch something hot, our nerves carry that message to the brain and in fractions of a second, the brain reacts and tells our body part to get out of there! Pain - and pleasure - show us what is safe and what is not.  Just so with our feelings.  Listening to them will tell us what is safe and what (or who) is not.  Experiencing them can bring us great reward, and suppressing them for a long time not only cuts off the painful emotions, but prevents us from feeling the pleasurable ones too.  

Photo "Silhouette Of A Man On The Rocks At Sunset" 
courtesy of satit_srihin at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I would rather experience some pain than not have the capacity to feel it at all, and eventually end up hurting myself (and those who love me) by not being able to have compassion.  And I would rather be sad or angry or afraid (even though those emotions are not pleasant!) than not be able to feel them when it would be right to do so.  What kind of person would I be (for example) not to feel angry, even enraged, when someone (and that someone also might include me just as well as it could another person) is being treated unfairly?  

A healthy person experiences the whole gamut of emotions (not usually all at once!), listens to them and expresses them in safe ways, and does whatever is necessary to deal with the causes of those feelings - whether it's looking after the self, or comforting another, or even fighting passionately for what's right.

Once feelings have served their purpose in making us aware of something, and once we have expressed them and acted on them in appropriate ways, it is okay to let them go ... they will come again when they are needed.  It's how we are built.  It's what we do.  And it's how we can really live. 

Huh. I guess that's it, isn't it!  If I had to choose a theme for this year (for myself), I guess I would choose the line to a Bon Jovi song:  "... I just wanna live while I'm alive."  (It's My Life, 2000, emphasis mine).

Joy - Hope - Peace

Several years ago, a friend at work gave me three little brass-toned Christmas ornaments; each is a single word.  One says "Joy"; one says "Hope" and the third says "Peace."  I hang them up every year on my cubicle wall, among other decorations I have accumulated over the years.  

Two Christmases ago, scarcely two months after our youngest daughter passed away, it was hard to put up those decorations.  It was hard to do much of anything.  Another friend at work decided to honour our Arielle (after first checking it with me) by giving out snowflake ornaments to everyone who came to our unit Christmas luncheon.  Although I don't normally attend such functions, I did agree to go - and it was so meaningful.  Since that time, several people have told me that they put up their snowflake every Christmas and think of me and of Arielle's story.  That touches my heart.  Her story needs to be told, and remembered.

Arielle's favorite holiday was Christmas.  She loved the lights and the colours, she loved the tinsel and the carols, she loved the crowds of people, and she loved all the feasting and family traditions we had.  And yes, it doesn't get any easier to go through our family traditions without her.

Image "Festive Snowflakes" by
Victor Habbick at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I will say, though, that during the holidays, the presence of friends as dear as family does make a difference. It gives us a reason to carry on those traditions and still honour Arielle's memory without becoming too despondent.  She would never want that anyway.  She hated for people to be sad around her.

This year, for some reason (and I have my theories as to why), there was some of that old spark that I used to feel around this time of year - not an excitement, but more like a little inner pleasure as I prepared Christmas gifts and cards for those who are dear.  I find myself looking forward to baking my deep-dish pumpkin pie the night before, and cooking that Christmas supper meal I have planned ... sharing food, friendship, and fellowship with friends and family ... is that joy?  

I also find myself feeling somewhat rejuvenated, since simplifying my life and reducing the amount of stress I was experiencing, de-stressing over a period of the last seven months on a couple of different fronts - and with the reduction in stress and hectic-ness, comes the perspective of hope ... that quiet confidence that all is happening as it needs to happen ... and that the future will be better.  Part of me is amazed that this would be the case; after years of striving to experience hope, it should light upon me like a butterfly once I stopped striving.

What is surprising most of all is the sense of calm that surrounds me at such times; I have noticed it occasionally as I have looked after myself and refused to entertain any kind of performance anxiety.  I noticed it again tonight as I put the final decorating touches on the tree, and then leisurely tuned the television to the fireplace channel and listened to soft Christmas music playing - everything from the Nutcracker to Silent Night.  Yes ... yes, it is peace.

Pervading all of it is an underlying current - one that is growing stronger as time goes on - that growing knowledge that I am loved unconditionally.  It is that love which saturates down into the core of me, where all those insecurities mill around and wreak havoc.  As I am less and less exposed to people, places and things that feed those insecurities, I sense and accept more of that love, and it (in turn) produces joy ... and hope ... and peace.

Kith and Kin

Yesterday, there was a cryptic phone message on our voice mail from my mother, saying that my brother was in their local hospital with "double pneumonia." Since he also suffers from Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) this could be very serious indeed. 

I resolved to phone the hospital to see how he was doing, since a trip at this time of year would not be feasible ... unless it really were serious, in which case I would go. 

This morning I phoned and spoke to his nurse. I was not listed as "next of kin," she told me, and therefore she was not allowed to discuss his diagnosis. She then proceeded to only give me general information. I was able - because I knew how - to pry enough information as I needed to reassure myself as to his condition. 

The bottom line is that he was admitted FIVE DAYS AGO with shortness of breath (not yet diagnosed). The general feeling is that he has some sort of flu, but that his fever is gone and he has good days and bad days - much like he was before - only he does cough at night and this is distressing for him. 

I mentioned to the nurse that I may be calling again to check on his condition in a couple of days. She warned me that someone else might not give me as much information as she did. 

Ouch.

I am very relieved that his condition is not as grave as my mother made it sound. However, the fact that she waited four days before telling me, that I wasn't even listed as an approved family member, and that she used such alarmist tactics to get me to re-establish contact with her, leaves me with a rather sour taste in my mouth. 

Family ties vs friendships : some people are lucky
enough to have both.
Photo courtesy of photostock at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Over the last four years, my definition of "family" has evolved into the kind that allows me to not be around people who make me feel like I'm "less than." 

These days, my "family" is those who build me up, those who value me as a person and who don't judge me or manipulate me.  

Just today, I started thinking of the expression, "kith and kin" - and I was curious as to the difference between the two. So, I consulted Professor Google. Kin refers to blood ties (genetic markers) one has with one's family of origin, or with one's siblings or children (possibly cousins, aunts, uncles, etc.) It implies warm feelings; the word "kinship" speaks of a heart affinity. (Some folks aren't lucky enough to have that with all of their family members; if you do, be VERY grateful!!!) 

However, the word kith refers to one's friends and neighbors, and comes from (depending on the source you read) the Old English or the Germanic root words for "knowing" or "to be known". Kith are the people who know you, who love you, whom you love - not because you HAVE to (i.e., because they are your relatives) but because you WANT to. 

I am grateful to have been blessed with kith. Friends - not acquaintances, but real true friends, those who really do care and about whom I care. Deeply. People who choose my company rather than feeling obliged to spend time with me. People who depend on me (not in a clingy way but who know that they can come to me if they need someone to talk to) and on whom - I have learned - I can depend. 

That is a marvelous feeling. 

I want to pass that feeling on to the people in my life. I want my children to feel that kinship with their parents; I want my friends to consider me to be 'kith' to them. I want to surround myself and my loved ones with that sense  of safety, the one where you don't feel you have to be on your guard around someone because you know that both people are going to handle each other's hearts with the respect and consideration they deserve. 

And that feeling of being safe, of being with 'kith' ... is a priceless commodity.

Different and same

I just saw a video this morning that I must share.  It's about five and a half minutes long and it is about a young man named Ryan Pittman.

His story is so powerful that it stands alone.  A lot of people have tried to get across what everybody needs to know.  Ryan succeeded.  He has given hope and inspiration to so many people.



I know he inspired me.

The Gift of Giving

This time of year, it's all around us... the idea of gifts and giving, presents and receiving.  

When we're small, we get very excited about the receiving part.  Okay, it's fun to get gifts, especially those ones that show that the person put some thought into it.  There's no denying it!

Source: (through Google Images)
http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/ethicallivingblog
/2008/dec/04/christmas

But as we grow up, we start to understand that there is a real gift in giving. There is such intrinsic reward in watching someone receive and appreciate a gift we've taken the time to pick out for him or her.  Whether it's the wonder on a child's face - or a tear of joy from a lonely old aunt - we start to learn the truth behind the saying, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."  

Not the obligatory kind, of course.  There's no enjoyment in that, only the repayment of an unspoken but very real debt.  Folks that use the gift-giving as a means of one-upmanship spoil the whole idea.   But real giving - the kind the other person doesn't expect and can't repay - is thrilling. It's a gift that gives back to the giver a hundredfold in satisfaction and happiness.  We were designed to enjoy it by One who knows the joy of giving.  

I could preach right now.  But I won't.

Blee-doop

Once in a while I hear a little chirp every so often, coming from another room.  Blee-doop.  Five minutes later, blee-doop.

Graphic "Low Battery" courtesy of
David Castillo at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

My cell phone is asking me to feed it.  I try not to let it get that hungry but sometimes I forget...and it tells me what it needs.  If I ignore it, the battery loses its charge altogether and the sound stops.  That isn't a good thing especially if the phone isn't where I usually keep it! But all I need to do is plug the charger in for a few hours and it soaks up energy like a little sponge, making the phone usable again.


I guess I get like that too.  Battery low.  

I get used too much, take on too much - or go too long without doing things that replenish my energy - and I start blee-dooping at people.  Any people but especially those who are closest to me.  Usually in a very annoying fashion.  This means I get all selfish, self-centred, and nasty with people...unthinking, uncaring.  It happens.  When I catch myself doing it (or occasionally, when a good friend calls me on it) it's never a pleasant experience - but it does alert me to the fact that I have been putting myself out too much and not taking anything in to recharge my batteries.

And occasionally, like today, my batteries get recharged without me having to make the time to do it.  People's sleep schedules were such that I was able to spend some quality time with my hubby before anyone else got up.  We got some shopping done before the stores got crowded.  It was nice - it was leisurely.  And when we did run some errands with one of our crew, it was short and we could spend some more time just relaxing for what seems like the first time in weeks. 

Nobody is like the Energizer Bunny.  We all need recharging.  Some more often than others, perhaps.

Different things drain me:

• I spend time with more than 4 people at a time or even one other person when I feel like I must be on my guard.
• I feel pressured into doing something I don't want to do, and judged when I say no.  Or ... I give in and say yes, and then resent every minute as well as the person who guilted me into it.
• I shop when the department or grocery stores are busy.  (Bad move...my skin starts to crawl and my fuse gets shorter...)



Photo "Blurred People Walking On The Street"
by surasakiStock at www.freedigitalphotos.net

• Or I am around people who are fighting with each other - voices raised, doors slammed, etc.

Blee-doop.

• I go to a gathering - whether church, a team meeting, or whatever - where I feel like nothing is being accomplished and I'm just going through the motions.
• I go without nourishing my spirit (listening to music, reading and meditating on Scripture and my recovery readings).
• Or I let people walk all over me - and don't stand up for what I want, and resentment builds up in me.

Blee-doop.

It doesn't take very long to recharge, just the decision to allow recharging to happen and making time for it if need be.  Thank God for earphones, Youtube, and unexpected quiet moments throughout the day.  Thank God for the beauty of nature.  Thank God for the ability to go for a walk if I need to do that.  Such things feed my soul.  That's what today has been like so far.

And if it changes - I can always go for a walk later - or go visit with some friends in a place where I feel safe and at home.  

That sounds like a plan.

Living Dangerously

I was reading a blog post recommended by a friend, which talked about the Christian response to tragedy and to stories where it seems that justice has prevailed... and whether it's really Christian or not.

If you want to read it, click here.  

That got me to thinking about one of my pet peeves about just about every sermon I have ever heard.  It's all about what we SHOULD be doing, never about how to get there.  The final result - that of reacting in love and forgiveness when atrocities happen - is not a product of what WE are doing or what we should be doing.  It is a result of God's passionate love for us.  When we start to understand just how deep, how wide, how high His love is for us, we start to live in gratitude for that, to want to spend time with Him.  The more time we spend with Him the more we will value those things which He embodies - truth, mercy, love, integrity.

For a Christian who is tired of playing church, experiencing God is primary to everything else - not just facts about God (and especially not facts about Him so that we can club people over the head who don't believe the same facts we do). 

Being aware of His presence, soaking and joying in it, is transformational, the source of all kinds of behaviors of which we are incapable on our own.  The sense of His presence, the belief that He loves us, ... that alone provides the strength to accomplish all those altruistic actions we read about - people forgiving those who have committed atrocities against them.

Such actions are not the goal.  They are the outflow.  Such a life (lived, as I've mentioned before, from the inside out) is dangerous to just about everyone I've ever met who was all about following the rules to earn some sort of eternal reward.  

A life lived totally from the experience of God's presence has no need for rules because it flows directly from His character.  Life lived on that kind of an edge cannot be described by anyone as religious (a.k.a dead).  It's the kind of abundant life that Jesus led - radically relational.

It's also the only life I've found that has any joy in it.

Enjoying Life

I'm not quite sure where we got the idea that we're not allowed to enjoy life, to have a good time, to look after our own spirits.

Enjoying ourselves is crucial to being able to cope with the things life throws our way.  When we take time for ourselves, our emotional tanks are kept at "Full."  We can appreciate more fully the good things in our lives, and we can cope better with the body-blows life throws at us.  All by doing what we love to do and not letting the urgencies of life fritter away at our peace of mind.

Whether it's getting outdoors and being active, curling up with a good book, gathering with your friends, or listening to music, the human spirit responds quite well to care and nurturing.

I think that our life-long focus on productivity, while it has its place, can get in the way of us living our lives.  Taking an hour to do something we love to do needn't be cause for guilt.  Rather, it can be a reason to celebrate, and often can enrich the lives of others around us.  After all, when we're in a good mood, don't people like being around us?  Happiness and contentment are contagious!

Guess what happens to dishes that don't get washed or beds that don't get made?  They stay exactly where they are, and they don't go anywhere.  

When I get to the end of my life, I don't think I'll be obsessing about how often I did or didn't do the laundry.  Or whether I spent enough time at the office.  What I'll be thinking about will be the moments that I have spent with my family and friends, making memories with them, singing songs with them, and enjoying their presence.  And I'm the kind of person that can't enjoy someone else's presence until and unless I'm comfortable in my own presence.  

Which is why I guess I was so unhappy for such a long time.  

Now, things are different.  I take the time to look after myself, to allow myself some recreation, and to spend time with people I care about and who care about me.  I'm learning how to have fun, to lighten up, to laugh once in a while.  After decades being serious enough to make up for everyone else's frivolity, I'm learning to let go of my oppressive killjoy attitude, and to enjoy my life.  I can barely believe this, the life I now have compared to a couple of years ago.  

I wouldn't trade it for anything.

What makes us human?

We dance all around it.  We talk about it but then try to hide it whenever possible.  The defining trait of humanity - as I have come to see it - isn't so much our intelligence, our social structure, or our accomplishments (including how much money we make or even that we have the concept of money!)  Rather, it is the capacity to both experience emotion and KNOW we are experiencing it, to have thoughts and know we are having them.  

Psychologists call this capacity "meta-cognition."  We have no problem with the thinking part.  We think and we know we're thinking, and we can even express in words, either verbal or written (another defining human trait), the ideas and thoughts that we think.

However, we have a harder time with the other part.

Emotions.  We are taught (especially in Western culture) that emotions are bad, especially negative ones, even the positive ones - if they are intense - are suspect.  For this reason many try to clamp down on their negative emotions.  I did it for years, even prided myself on nothing being able to affect me.  The problem with that, of course, is that nothing affected me.  In cutting myself off from my negative emotions, I also cut myself off from the pleasant ones.  I lost my self, and not in a good way.  I lost touch with who I was - and at the age of 48, I had no idea who Judy was or if I would even like her if I got to know her.  If there was a feeling there at all, it was of bewilderment... of sadness so profound I could not even begin to get to its roots - by myself.  

Suppressed (shall I put it another way - denied and unexpressed) anger, fear, or disappointment, mixed with a sense of being trapped, are the seeds of depression, clinical (that is, lasting more than 3 months) or not.  

Only now, now that I have been in a recovery process for over 2 years, am I starting to allow myself the luxury of having fun.  In order to get there, I had to express some pretty strong feelings (in a safe way of course and with people I had come to trust).  All that pent-up anger and feelings of betrayal, sadness, and self-pity had to come out, to be brought to the surface and ... FELT.

Yes, it was hard.  It was incredibly hard.  I am not a big fan of pain at all!!  But I had someone who was wiling to walk through the process with me and let me know that it was necessary in order to be free, to come to a place of forgiveness, dare I say acceptance ... and compassion.  Before, I could not get to forgiveness because I could not allow myself to express those feelings that - truth be told - I was forbidden to express growing up.  

Being assured that my emerging feelings were normal for what I went through was extremely liberating.  Just the validation of that carried me through many painful months of having those "normal" feelings... I put it in quotation marks because it felt anything but normal - they came out in a flood because they had been pent-up for so very long and I had only allowed overflows (like a pressure cooker letting off steam enough to keep from blowing up).  The flood was overwhelming at times. And most of the stuff I felt was negative.  A lot of negative stuff happened to me in my life.  My emotional recovery was like a storm in a lake - all the silt and mud gets stirred up and the waters look so dirty.  That's how I felt - soiled somehow - until these things started to be brought to the surface, dealt with, and forgiven.  

Gradually, though, the waters cleared ... and I could begin to see clearly.  I began to experience something I had not known for many years - if at all.  Happiness.

I would not trade that sense of everything being as it should be - for anything.

Shoulds and Oughtas - The Fine Print

I'm having a dream.

In my mind's eye, I see a door which is slightly ajar - inviting, strewn about in front with flowers, twittering birds, and soft music.  

Above the archway is written, "Just Believe." I can't quite see inside - but the marketing on the outside is pretty impressive.  Beneath the beautiful tones of birdsong, I can faintly hear a Voice.  It is loving, passionate, pure, full of promise and encouragement.  Hope springs inside of me!

Going through the door, I expect to see a welcoming place.  A place where I am accepted for who I am.  Perhaps the author of the Voice.

But although I can see remnants of what once was a peaceful, inviting place, on the inside are iron bars and barbed wire, and I am handed a list of dos and don'ts. "Welcome to the abundant life," says an automaton who is dressed in 40's business garb.  "There is joy here ... Unless you sell yourself into slavery and subjugate your own desires, you won't ever be truly happy." I look at the list of rules.  They include such things as giving up anything that might be construed as enjoyment or fun.  They include giving up favorite pastimes in order to be at the church whenever the doors are open, sacrificing even family time to be at the beck and call of whatever missions trip or conference is going on.  The faces of my spouse and children start to fade away - I hear their protesting voices get more and more dim as I consider the path before me.

I panic.  This is not what I signed up for!!  Where is the peace? Where is the joy?  Where - oh please tell me it's somewhere - is the love?

Where did God go in all of this?

I can't hear that Voice anymore!!

I force myself to read the list of regulations and get to the bottom.  I'm already in shock - what more could there be?  

A smudge at the bottom of the page attracts my attention.  I ask for a magnifying glass.  Uncomfortable, my new host hands one to me.  I read at the bottom: "If you do not subscribe to every single belief, behavior, and attitude on this list, your motivations and your conversion will be questioned by the Fellowship at every turn.  If you dare to step outside the prescribed methods listed on the reverse, (there's more?? I think to myself) your actions will be deemed "not of God" and you will be ostracized. Embrace the blessing.  Have a nice day."

Now I am SURE I have made a mistake.  

A suffocating feeling comes over me.  The hope I felt before entering the door is being crushed, soured, demolished.

I begin to look around in desperation.  Is it ALL like this?  What happened to all the promises I was made?  How could this existence EVER be mistaken for "abundance?" Someone PLEASE wake me up from this nightmare!

I pray desperately - my heart's cry is for God to show me what this is all about and what HE wants, how HE feels about all this.

Set before me is a labyrinth of gates, dead ends, and roadblocks.  It's all so forbidding, so artificial... so I look for any other way to recapture the promise I heard in the Voice.  

And there IS something: a light - a natural light - like Sunlight - coming NOT from the labyrinth but from somewhere I can't see, off to the side. 

I decide to follow it.  All around me are voices condemning me for my choice.  I've left the safety of the maze, they say. I've gone where nobody should go.  Nobody who's ever gone that way has ever come back, they say.  "Well," I think aloud, "there's no way I want to come back to THIS."

On this new path, I can see some of the original design of this vast place.  Gnarled roots from an olive tree.  Moss, soft and cool, cushions my step.  I feel strangely invigorated. The accusing voices behind me start to fade away.  I cock my head slightly for I think I can hear the peeping of a bird - somewhere.  The noises of an ever-increasingly wild wood both frighten and intrigue me.  The light - the light is just ahead.  

I round a corner and see a tree - one that looks like it has been in this spot forever.  One one side of its bumpy and overgrown bark there is a space cleared where someone has carved a heart.  The words inside the heart seem to vibrate with life.  "Love one another."  

The chirping of birds is more clear now - all kinds of species, with songs high and low, blending together harmoniously.  Almost forgotten is the labyrinth behind me; in fact, it has faded from my sight.

The light I saw earlier is all around me; it seems to come from nowhere but yet it is miraculously here.  I am filled with awe --  with a sense that I have only begun to scratch the surface of something that can never be fathomed. 

A rustling sound - like the sound of crinkling paper - distracts me. The list of dos and don'ts is still in my hand, the only remnant of the restrained, strait-jacket world I have left behind.  I forgot to toss the paper away - and I am just about to do so when I notice the watermark on the paper.  In the artificial light from the entryway, I could not see it - but now it is as clear as day.  

It says "Ichabod - the glory has departed."

As I let go of the paper, it dissolves into mid-air and a warm glow beckons me on. I hear a Voice - a familiar Voice - the one I thought I heard when I stood outside the entrance.  Only  now can I hear Him say my name - saying it in the purest and most passionate love I have ever known.

My heart leaps.  This - this is joy.  If I am dreaming ..... don't wake me.

Hope Springs

Winter is long in the Maritimes.  It's large and in charge.

For now.

Snowmobilers are loving it.  Skiers too.  Winter enthusiasts (to me that's an oxymoron but we shan't go there today) have absolutely been thrilled with all this white stuff.

I've seen snowbanks twelve feet high, have been trapped behind a snow plow as it punched its way, backing up and taking its umpteenth run, through a huge drift on a country road in the Maritimes.

Contrast that with the scene we'll most likely see in as little as two months or so.  Culverts filled with run-off water, lawns bursting with greenery but too wet to mow, and best of all, the spring flowers!

First the crocus, the lily of the valley, and other assorted "early spring" flowers peek out from behind the snowbanks.  Then, the tulips, cautious souls which have been poking tentatively above the ground while the others were blooming (and being flattened by the last ice storm of April), send forth their stems and start to bud.  By May 1 they are showing their colours: rainbow colours, pastels, and deep reds and fuchsias.

The mess and the muck are part of the parcel.  

We welcome spring - and by spring I mean spring-time green and colour, not necessarily the date on the calendar - because it means an end to such a cold and forbidding winter.  By the time the tulips drop their petals, the sound of the first lawnmowers will be heard.

In the meantime, we wait.  All of nature waits.  The trees catch the scent first... and the tips of their branches bulge with pregnant anticipation.  Before the last winter storm has happened, they have already prepared themselves inside - the sap is flowing, unseen to most of us (unless you happen to be in the habit of collecting the sap for maple syrup!)

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, the miracle happens.  The temperature starts to rise. Oh, it acts like a yo-yo at first; winter is reluctant to release its icy grasp. 

But it happens.  The pessimism that we've fallen into, wondering if we'll ever be rid of the ice and snow - the irritability of cramped streets where snow removal crew have run out of places to put it all - starts to erode.

A flicker of hope.

And then we start to notice those other things.  Goose-song from alphabet letters in the sky.  Icicles with drips coming off the tips.  Snow turns to water when it hits our doorsteps.  The snow banks closest to the houses start to recede from the foundation.  And one day we head outside on our way to work and the unmistakable smell of spring - the smell of things decayed from last fall, mixed with muck and mire, nourishing the earth - greets us.

And hope springs. 

Morning Coffee

When I first met my husband, I wasn't a coffee-drinker.  I drank tea.  I had tried coffee once or twice - thought it was - well - vile.

But he was a coffee drinker.  Loved his morning coffee - would drink it cold from last night's pot, or even from the pot that was brewed two days ago.  

But I loved to linger over breakfast with him, sipping a hot cup of something.  So, I decided to give coffee another go.  I told him about my previous experiences and he (since he knew how the coffeemaker worked and I didn't) decided to start me off easy - with coffee made only about half the strength he took it.  Besides, he must have reasoned - it meant he could have twice as much.

I put milk and sugar in it - we didn't buy cream back then.  And I found it bearable.  I enjoyed the company for sure - and over time I learned to look forward to it, to learn little tricks to take the bitter taste away.  After all, I grew up liking coffee ice cream.  So a few grains of salt in the batch took the bitter taste from it and before long I could even say I liked it.

Then all he did was slowly, carefully, turn up the volume. He started making it stronger.

Today, I can't imagine starting my morning without a cup of coffee, sometimes two. (And yes, I did learn how to use the coffee maker!)  It's still something that he and I linger over, and often I am known to say "Oh, that's so good!" when I take my first sip of the morning.


But I enjoy it when he's not with me too.  This morning I got up early (not by choice) and when it became clear that I wasn't going to get back to sleep, I got up and made a pot of coffee.  I sat with a cup and soaked in and enjoyed the company of Someone else who never sleeps...nor does He ever get tired.  That's one of the "perks" of waking up early: more conscious time with Him.

I built a relationship with coffee, with my husband, and with God the exact same way.  I went at my own pace, spent more and more time with them, and learned to love them.  

Lately the relationships with my husband and with God have both been deepening.  As God has brought me through the process of the last 2 years, I find I want to spend more time with Him, not less, and that I enjoy being with my husband - and with myself - much more than I could have thought possible.

It's addictive really.  A good kind of addiction - because the human spirit is an addictive entity and was designed to only find complete fulfillment in one place: intimate relationship with God.  Lesser addictions - especially when given first place - harm the spirit, whether they be to substances, to things, people, power, money, sports, culture, or whatever. People can even be addicted to church and to church events!! 

But this - this sense of peace and lightness inside - this is priceless.

I think I'll go back for another cup this morning. 

Dead Air

One of the most common frustrations and complaints about prayer is that it doesn't work, that the prayers don't get answered.

There seem to be those who live a "charmed" existence, whose prayers are always answered and who are always getting great press because whoever they pray for gets healed, or a job, or whatever, - and whatever they pray for happens.

Hm.  Well, I guess I am glad it happens for some people.  I have to wonder what might happen to their faith if for some reason there was an "answer" that didn't come.

The term "unanswered prayer" is a red flag for those who consider themselves Christians. Yet ... I think this might have more to do with the idea that we have to protect God's reputation than it does about actually being honest.  

The truth is that prayer (and for the moment, let's keep our definition to the more accepted one of asking God for what you want) - carries with it the option of God saying "no".  And speaking as a parent, the more my kids hound me to do something with the attitude that I HAVE to give it to them, like it's their right or something, the more likely I am to either say no, or walk away and ignore them.  (They are starting to learn this!)  See, it works this way:  we ask for what we want, we say please, and God decides whether to say yes, no, or wait a while (sometimes a LONG while).  We DON'T demand.  We DON'T manipulate or "quote scripture" back to Him (after all, He knows what it says!!) as a way to get what we want.  We don't even have to ask Him for something that we know is His will!  if it's His will, He will find a way to make it happen because - well, because He is God and being Divine and all-powerful and all that, He can.

I'm beginning to see prayer in a different light these days.

Less and less I pray for "what I want."  More and more I see prayer as a way to develop and deepen my relationship with Him.  A conversation between friends, in other words.  

Okay, so if I am upset about something, I tell Him.  I don't hold anything back because after all, He made me, and He loves me.  But most of the time I'm inviting Him into my situations, to take control of them, to not let me grab the reins and try to do His job in my life or anyone else's.  I accept things, people, and circumstances the way they are in reality.  I try to remember that He's God and I'm not, and that He can do a far better job of running the universe than I ever could.  And I have discovered that for me - this leads to far more peace than I have ever known in my life. Before, I was so dissatisfied with the "way the world is" and what people "should" be doing.  I was constantly angry.  Nothing or nobody could satisfy me - and that included God.  He was too slow.  And then I prettied it up and turned it around to blame myself.  I'm not saying the right words in the right way.  I don't have enough faith.  I must have sin in my life.  It was all a smokescreen.  It was all "I - I - I."  I wanted things to change and change "now" like I was some old dog chasing its tail and never catching anything but a dizzy spell - what a waste of energy that was.  

I stumbled about a year ago on the only kind of prayer that always gets answered and brings the kind of peace I was looking all my life to find.

It took taking me through quite a journey for God to get me to the idea that prayer isn't about changing things.  It's about walking with Him.  It's not about me hanging on for dear life to Him - but about Him never letting go of me.  It's not about me getting what I want. It's about growing in my love-relationship with Him.  It's about Him freely and graciously giving me the one thing I need in life: the awareness of His presence.

We Are Family

A lot of people I know are of the opinion that one's family is the genetic unit into which one is born.  I hear married women talk about going to see their "family."  My first reaction inside is usually, "So what are your husband and kids?  chopped liver?"

Those of us adults who have come from dysfunctional homes have a great deal of baggage when it comes to the term, "Family."  It isn't a happy word.  It's a word filled with images of broken promises, betrayed trust, divided loyalties, empty days and still emptier nights.  

So in the last few years, I have come to redefine the word "family."  Family for me is a state of mind.  It has very little to do with one's DNA.  It has everything to do with heart, where one feels safe, where one feels loved.  

There are people I am related to by birth or by marriage, with whom I do not feel safe.  I feel like I always have to be on my guard - on the defensive - at red alert.  That's not a good atmosphere to grow up in, and it's not a good atmosphere to willingly enter.  

The man I married - he's my family.  My children too.  These are the people with whom I feel "at home."  But it doesn't end there.  There are people in my life who love me, who respect me and who value my opinions, whom I love, respect, and whose opinions I value, who are not necessarily related to me by blood or marriage.  These are the ones that I consider "family." 

And some that I'm told are "supposed to" be family, I can't consider so.  Some church members - bless them - are more about being right or about finding fault than about being accepting or loving.  It's draining for me to be with them.  

Some related to me by marriage - well, I'm sorry - but if I do not feel one shred of respect coming from them, they're not my family.  It doesn't mean I hate them; it just means that I prefer not to spend time with them when there are so many others in my life that I like being with.  Some of the new friends that I've been making - friends who accept me for who I am and who don't judge me for where I'm coming from - are my family - my "circle of friends" (the name of the photo to the left, below ...) who love and support me and for whom I do the same.  We don't try to change each other, we don't try to run each others' lives - and we enjoy being in each others' company.  

I have these kinds of "family" members spread out all over the place, people who are not related to me genetically or legally, but with whom I have a connection that is pretty amazing.  I suppose technically that they could be called "friends."  They're that too.  We love each other - but we also LIKE each other; this is a good thing.  

Some live in the United States.  Others in Dorchester NB and various spots across Canada.  Some live in the city I live in - but I didn't meet them until 3 months ago and yet I feel as though I have known them, loved them all my life.  Others I've only known a couple of years. Still others, perhaps 10 or 20 years.  Some I have met and know through music ministry.  Some at work.  Others, in several other ways.  One I even met when I was 17 and in my first summer job.   

We all have two things in common: love and respect.  Those things can't be bought or manufactured.  They are gifts - nurtured and developed by those to whom they are given, exercised and practiced and never once taken for granted.

To these my family members - I give my most profound thanks! 

Slow Down

The din is everywhere.  We're surrounded by noise: honking horns, radios blaring, music broken by announcements in department stores, television.  We seem obsessed with filling the silence with sound of some sort.

Perhaps it's to drown out the clamor of our own thoughts.  Alone, we might face our inner emptiness - isolation - loneliness.  Or worse yet, think about important things like life, mortality, immortality.

Or it could be to distract us from the cruel irony of our own tyrannical self-imposed schedules and demands.  I mean, does it REALLY matter if the dishes get done before 7 pm or if a tea towel is not hung up nicely on the rack? Or if we do three hours of voluntary overtime or just one?  Come on! 

I grew up feeling guilty when I was idle.  Gotta fill that time with activity.  Gotta be productive, gotta have something to show for having lived another hour.  I've seen the stress people in my life have put themselves through - the ulcers for which some have been on medication for years - with this kind of attitude.  And I have to question: is it really worth it?

Sometimes I wonder if we might be better served by carving out some time in our busy schedules to slow down and relax.  To listen.  To spend quality time with the people who matter most to us.  To turn off the radio or the TV, to unplug from this wired world and just enjoy the moment.  No plans.  No agendas.  No expectations.

When I find my stomach in knots, when I'm clenching my teeth in my sleep, I know that my life is more about being a "human doing" rather than a "human being".  

That's when I need to take time away from the tumult and pace of my frenzied surroundings, the demands of the daily mundane but self-important tasks that insist on having my attention - and focus instead on God.  On my relationship with Him.  On His relationship with me. On my relationship with myself (often most forgotten in the hubbub.) I need to connect with the people closest to me.  To concentrate on those people and things which will outlast the hurry and scurry of this hamster-wheel of modern life.  In doing so I will regain that lost sense of peace I didn't even know was missing - until I went looking for it. 

Journey - not Destination

One of the most amazing trips I ever took was with my brand-new husband back in the summer of 1981.  We took three weeks and toured all over the Maritimes, even spent a week in the States.  We started with the Cabot Trail, toured the south shore of Nova Scotia, headed up through the Valley and up to Digby, crossed on the ferry to Saint John, visited with a couple of people there for a day, went to the summer camp where we first became a couple, stayed in that town for a week, then headed up to Houlton Me, crossed at Woodstock and took in King's Landing near Fredericton, traveled down to my home town (Sackville NB) and visited with my mom and dad overnight before heading to PEI to live.

I think it was the only time in my life up until that point, that I enjoyed the journey instead of asking, "Are we there yet?"  I loved the person I was with, enjoyed even the silences.  We stopped along the way to take in all the marvels of the scenery around us.  I still have the yellowed photos from those days.  (Bonus: it only rained 3 days out of those 3 weeks!!)

Most of the time I want to "skip to the end."  

I get impatient.  I want things to be the way they're "supposed" to be in the final product without being willing to go through the process it takes to get there.  

There is power in the process.  There is value in the journey.  Without it, how can I remember how I got from A to B, much less describe it to someone else who might need to get there?

True in traveling; true in life.

There is a promise that, the first time I heard it, I was confused by.  "We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it."  Well.  There were lots of things in my past that I regretted.  You might be surprised at some of those things.  And the things I regret have changed over time.  When I was younger (say, 10 years younger), I regretted my rebellious youth. I could see no useful purpose that it served.  As my children grew into those years, I started to see the value in them.  I found that I could relate to their own confusion, to their feelings that parents are the dumbest animals on the planet.  

Up until about a year and a half ago, I regretted my growing up years. I was full of shame.  I wished that I had been brought up differently, that certain things had never happened to me.  Part of me still does regret it, still does wish I didn't have to go through the things that to this day occasionally haunt my dreams (although they don't nearly as much as they once did!)  The memories were painful; I didn't want to go there, and I wished it would all go away.  But I had started a journey of healing.  And soon I realized that God had brought me to this - allowed me to go through even the 'bad' stuff - for a very special and unique purpose.

I remember a message I heard once about "Moses' rod" - and I think that this bears repeating.  The very symbol of Moses' old life, of the failure he experienced in trying to deliver his people on his own and running away - only to become a shepherd on the back side of the desert for 40 years - was the very thing that God used to not only convince Moses that his life had purpose, but also earn him a hearing with the man who held his people captive. When God asked Moses to throw down his rod on the ground - and it became a snake - Moses was getting rid of all the baggage that accompanied what that rod represented to him: loss, failure, limits, guilt, and shame.  After he picked up the snake and it became a rod in his hand again, ever afterward Moses referred to that shepherd's staff as "the rod of God." God had become his shepherd; the rod was a constant reminder that God can use and transform anything or anyone.  

Even failures.


Today, I'm learning not to regret the past, not to want to shut the door on it.  Not so that I can return there myself, but so that I can see others suffering in that place and show them that there is a way out.  And along the way, I can truly enjoy the journey and trust that my Shepherd is by my side.